


The Question

by orphan_account



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Near Death Experiences, mentoring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-06
Updated: 2013-09-06
Packaged: 2017-12-25 19:09:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/956641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hey, Rude?”</p><p>“Yes, Elena?” She's staring at him now with an odd intensity, in spite of her buzzed glow.</p><p>“What's the closest you've ever been to dieing?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Question

“Hey, Rude?” Elena sways over her fourth vodka cranberry. Her hair is mussed and cheeks appealingly flushed from dancing. She breaths just heavily enough to be noticeable as she slides back into the booth across from him, tripping up a little, giggling. 

“Hm?”

“Oh, I dunno.” she giggles again, like clinking glasses, runs her fingers playfully over the rim of her glass, before taking another sip. Smiles like she didn't kill three people today. She puts the glass back down, fingers still drumming along the rim to match the music, watches the writhing crowd on the dance floor, makes a pleased humming noise in her throat. 

“Hey, Rude?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think Reno will notice if I have some of his drink? He never shares.”

“He knows you won't like it.” Rude is nursing his own glass, only the second of the night, a seasonal specialty from his favorite microbrewery. It's a saison, cask-conditioned, which means lower carbonation but brighter flavor and smoother feel. He waits all year for it. He absently smooths some condensation off the glass with his thumb, searching out the third Turk amongst the mass of bodies, finds him quite lost in the revelry, with no lack of partners. “Doubt he'll be back soon. I won't tell.” She glances around with play conspiracy before quickly lifting the clear liquid to her lips, and just as quickly slamming the glass back down and pulling a face. 

“That's...that's just awful. It's like drinking a tree if the tree was trying to kill you in revenge.” Rude lets a little huff of amusement escape him. 

“Told you. He likes his gin. The cheaper and fouler the better.”

“How can you kiss him when he tastes like that?” Rude just raises an eyebrow. “Okay, fine.” She goes back to watching the crowd and sipping on her drink for about ten minutes, still swaying and humming happily. Then, again:

“Hey, Rude?”

“Yes, Elena?” She's staring at him now with an odd intensity, in spite of her buzzed glow.

“What's the closest you've ever been to dieing?” Of course. Today had probably been her first palpable brush with mortality. On the job, at least. He can't speak to her life before this, but he guesses she hasn't been in danger all that often. A gun jamming while it's pointed between your eyes is a pretty close brush, not that it had appeared to faze her in the slightest at the time. She'd just slammed the guys nose cartilage into his brain and spit in his face. It seems a sincere question, so he digs for a sincere answer. He figures he's close to death every time he has a gun to his head, or a blade at his throat, or a bomb at his back, which isn't infrequent. He plays his odds better than most, but that's still what half of the job is. He figures she means when has he felt it, though. When has death gripped him like cold, dark water, because she's looking cold, dark water at him now, behind her smile. 

He thinks of grime and heat and livid mako back-light. He thinks of bullets cutting the air and puckering the ground of under-eight around their cover. He can smell copper, heady and overwhelming and red everywhere, hot, sticky, covering him, covering Reno in violent spurts, faster as his body realizes it's hurt and panics. He's being pulled against a solid, wiry chest, dragged, settled somewhere in the shadows. Reno's dirty fingers in his artery. Vision sparking and whiting out at the edges. He can't feel his extremities, cold and numb curling up from his toes and his fingers. Reno barking something into the PHS, then looking down, trying to lock their gazes.

“Stay with me man! You're gonna be fine.” The first wave of cures hit him like quick frostbite, waves of pain melting to warmth, then more pain. Over, and over. He feels new blood with each spell, but not enough to replace what he's already lost, what's trying to fill his lungs where it escapes around the plug of Reno's fingers. He tries to speak but it's just a grating, gurgling sound. “Shit, no you're fine. Focus on me. Just look at me. Helps comin'.” Reno's eyes are dark with mako-taint and exertion as he pours out spell after spell. Rude's whole body screams at the unnatural acceleration of cell growth and adrenaline. Somewhere distant, he hears footsteps rushing towards them, and burst of what might be suppressing fire. 

“Hey, Rude?” He jerks his face back towards her, realizing he'd been off in his own head. The joy and the curiosity in her face have been replaced with concern, and confusion. “You okay?” He nods. He thinks suddenly of putting down sick and injured animals, on the farm as a child. 

“Carotid artery.” He says simply. When it's clear that she understands what he's said, but not the significance to him, he shrugs and pulls down the collar of his shirt to show the blunt scar across the right side of his neck. “Lucky bullet.” He says. “I should be dead. Would be dead, if I'd had a more obedient subordinate.” She nods gravely. Then, curiosity answered, assured that she's not alone, she perks up again. Rude glances around for another subject, and finds it easily enough. “Which one do you want?”

“Huh?”

“That guy in the purple shirt, and that girl with the bracelets. They're both looking at you. Which one do you want?” She follows his gaze. 

“I don't know if...”

“Look.” He leans forward, folds his hand on the table. “I get it. You should be dead too. But you're not. You feel good right? Alive.” She nods enthusiastically, starting to sway pleasantly again. “Go with it.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you thought of either Jen Titus rendition of O' Death, or Scooters The Question is What is the Question I have no idea how, but I've done something right because those were the two songs stuck in my head.


End file.
